


Burning Love

by silver_moon_howler



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Abigail Hobbs Lives, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Dark Will Graham, Fluff, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, M/M, Murder Husbands, One Shot, Pre-Slash, Serial Killer Will Graham, Team Sassy Science (Hannibal), Will Graham Has Encephalitis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:42:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23293432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silver_moon_howler/pseuds/silver_moon_howler
Summary: Hannibal gets bored with psychiatry and opens up a cafe with Bedelia. Because he's no longer working Alana has no choice but to recommend Will for therapy with Chilton. Which ends horribly for everyone but Will. Hannibal is just angry everyone else has met the super hot, serial killer criminal profiler.____The second time this profiler was brought up was by Chilton of all people.“So you rejected the white whale,” he gloated to Hannibal over dinner. Hannibal stilled in cutting open his pan seared liver saltimbocca,“I’m a to be the Ahab in a pursuit I know nothing about?” He sits across from the pest and grins, “Who runs from me so?” How apt the metaphor would become in the passing weeks. “You haven’t heard,” Fredrick enthused over the meal, he paused taking a gulp of his wine glass to choke down the decorational piece that he thought was an appetizer. “The most renowned profiler has been put under my care, what a unique mind it is-pure empathy. Sheds his skin to replace it with someone else’s. You can only imagine how deep my claws go into his reptilian brain.”
Relationships: Alana Bloom & Will Graham, Bedelia Du Maurier & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham & Abigail Hobbs, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 6
Kudos: 97





	Burning Love

It had started off as a joke first. The choice word being joke. Bedilia had never heard such a blatant joke come from Hannibal’s mouth. But when he smiled at her, the corner of his mouths twitched so slightly, and his tongue lilted over the stiffened words, Bedelia knew he had poked fun at her. 

“We often find ourselves expressing negative actions in times when we are at a loss of comfort,” Bedlia told Hannibal.  
“What brings you comfort, I wonder,” Hannibal had asked her innocently, “It is so easy for one to forget the things that eases their mind during duress. We end up acting very foolish.” His eyes sparkled. Bedelia flinched. She saw through him, only just. Her eyes strained and her fingers trembled as she pulled away the steel curtains Hannibal hid behind. He was a very dangerous man, she was simply a vacant watcher, slack jawed and round eyed. Bedelia settled farther into her loveseat, “I am aware of the comforts of life.”  
“But do you partake in life’s comforts,” Hannibal shot back. She stilled, reeling back from the monster’s glittering fangs. “I enjoy visiting cafes,” she relented. Hannibal’s eyes purposefully strayed over to the emptied wine glass at Bedelia’s hands, “Shame, I don’t have any coffee shops to recommend.” He looked up at her and grinned, “With our combined talents think of the ease we would have opening one.” 

It was not easy. Bedelia hadn’t even wanted to start a cafe. But Hannibal was becoming bored, she could feel it. His life had settled down and the monster underneath was becoming impatient, soft words that warped reality spoken over firelight and wine lost the thrill it did to the man. Bedelia saw it and Hannibal saw it. It happened shortly after the incident, Bedelia officially retired but the look in Hannibal’s eyes that night shook her core. He stood over her, crouched like a predator. Their teeth bared behind a human mask. There was no such thing as balant between the two of them but Bedelia was growing weary of Hannibal bating her around like a cat’s toy.  
“It is common to lose sight of the comforts we have and react poorly,” she told Hannibal. The words behind the statement undisguised in ambiguity, ‘Stay in your lane, psycho and don’t forget how content your horrors kept you.’ Hannibal stretched up to his full height without moving a muscle, “I wonder how retirement can feed into such actions, maddening as it is for the busy bee when the busy bee is no longer busy.” The shadow behind his face leaned forward and whispered, ‘I wonder how crazy I can drive you to be, alone in a big fancy house.’  
“I’m quite fine,” Bedelia assured him.  
“I’m thinking of unburdening myself from parts of my duties,” Hannibal informed her, “taking time to curve new hobbies I wish to explore.” Bedelia pulled back in shock, “You’re kidding,” she drawled.  
“I assure you, Bedelia, I do not kid. Would you like to talk business?” 

______

It was either Chilton or a life behind the desk. Will had no objections to staying in his desk job but when Jack put out the ultimatum it sounded much more worse to be behind the desk, his consciousness tickled at the back of Will’s mind in fantastical purples, warping the river bend Will had crafted from the stone work of his mind’s chasm. Alana often came to visit him with news of Abigail and her anxiety bled deeply into Will, green ink blots that spelled out a profile, a description. When Will looked at Jack he saw a pollutant, not at first but the thought was beginning to dawn on him. When Will looked at Alana he saw a profile-a victim-an autopsy, affection had confused itself in the heart of hopefulness. When Will looked at Abigail he saw...well Will wasn’t sure what he saw yet but he knew that the further away from her life he was when the pinions clicked into place, the safer Abigail would be. 

Fredrick was a shit therapist. The first session Will never spoke a word to Fredrick beside, a hello at the beginning of their session and a goodbye at the end. He preened under a silent audience, stretching out in cerulean blues across Will’s imagination. He raved about Will’s execution for the mushroom harvester but commandeered credit. When Will left his session at the psychiatric hospital his chest ached for an audience, he needed to speak to somebody.  
“Oh my god, I am so sorry!” Will bumped into an orderly working the lateshift, knocking a bucket used for mopwater from his hands. Will feigned kindness, with a sickly grin and a ticked lip. He had nothing against the orderly but Chilton’s presence peacocked about, outraged that someone dared step in front of someone so important. Will mind warped, as it so often does, into another shape. The river melted away into water paint and Chilton’s grubby fist punched a hole through Will’s brain and shakingly drew a restaurant, completely empty but filled with listening ears. There were voices bouncing off the walls. The silent audience that affirmed they were still there. 

“Do I know you,” the orderly asked. The restaurant's patron’s turned their heads, faceless heads smiled, just the presence of slits being cut into the tapestry-a tapestry Chiltron reflected his soul into.  
“My name is Will Graham,” Will told the man. The man straightened,  
“Oh, Dr. Chilton said you’d be here,” he held out his hand, Will’s hand itched as he shook it. “My name is Matthew Brown, what’re you in for?” Will trapped inside a waiting audience flinched back, his body physically rose to its full height and smiled, “I’m a bit of a rare case, actually. Extreme empathy, I can get into anyone’s mind.” He dared not reach Matt’s eyes and add another color, another paint stroke on Will’s abstract. Matthew breathed out in reverence, “That’s pretty useful.” Will nodded,  
“Like you wouldn’t believe, it does unfortunately have drawbacks, I’m a bit out of character at the moment, my mind is not my own now, it’s hard to be discernible.” The blue was beginning to fade, it clawed desperately to stay and yet. Will took the brittle reality of the restaurant in between his fingers and snapped it in half. Apathy drained into Will’s eyes. “Excuse me,” he mumbled pushing aside, “I’m not feeling well.” He did not miss the way Matt’s eyes followed. Lingering at his heels. 

Will always dreamed in black. Shadows fell over Will’s lap and whispered dark things in Will’s ear. The sleepwalking was new, so was waking up with red on his hands. The next morning the news reported a body had been found near a river down Annapolis. And Will had the odd after taste in the back of his mouth when you mix two things that don’t mix together. Like Chilton and Hobbs. 

Looking at your own work, what you made with your own two hands and not recognizing it, is a surreal feeling to Will.  
“She’s been washed,” Beverly told him, “like, surgically. Bacteria wipes, it smells like; and medical disinfectant. The local college says some of their stock is missing, enough to decontaminate five rooms. We’re trying to get surveillance but on a general courtesy policy to the kids they don’t put cameras in the decon center.” Will nodded,  
“It’s not a surgical mind that went about this.” Internally he groaned, why was he telling the people who are trying to catch him how to catch him! He closed his eyes and watched Fredrick and Garrett war over Will’s body between themselves. He swaggered then stomped, vacant of a proper consciousness to take reign. The woman was probably in her mid thirties, she laid back on a blanket, her fingers curled in her hair, shorn short.  
“Guy got a thing for hair,” Brian asked. Will shook his head, “He didn’t necessarily need the hair, it was just easiest to take without making a mess.”  
“Got an outline for me, Will?” Jack crept up behind Will, clapping a hand to his shoulder. Will winced,  
“I’ll-ah,” he looked around nervously at the crowd, “I guess there isn’t going to be a moment alone,” he muttered. “Just give me some air.” 

He bent low to the woman, at the center of her naked chest a mark had been painted. Will would never consider himself an artist, he would never think of himself as anything but a vacant shell. But his hands had followed in pursuit of their purest form, there was silence. When Will closed his eyes he realized there had been a silence in his mind that he hadn’t felt in a long time, the voices under his scalp had escaped. Well two of them. In the river, in each stone Will had preserved the base of two of his loudest voices and then let the excess run out from the tips of his fingers onto a blank canvas.  
‘I see a painted lady, dressed in skin made of tissue paper and fabric swatches. My hands are bleeding, my hands are dripping with the color-the inspiration of another. In dark greens and cerulean blues I paint a picture of deceit and trickery. I peel back her mask behind a mask of my own and show everyone who she truly is.” 

Will pulled away, wiping his face. Confliction still tangled away at his features but the picture was becoming clearer.  
“Jack!” He stood up and turned around,  
“Jack!” Jack lumbered over, he opened his mouth and pollution dribbled from his lips.  
“We got a profile.” The word We chafed at Will’s stomach, “I saw,” he bit out, “Two likes, two minds, two men.” He rubbed his beard, “I haven’t gotten far but yeah, there’s two warring bodies.” Brian stepped forward with his tweezers,  
“Are you saying we’re looking for partners.” Jimmy hummed, “That’s rare.” Will bit his lip,  
“No, there aren't two people, it’s two presences.”  
“A borderline,” Beverly guessed. Will clenched his fist, “I can’t diagnose him, I can just see the outlet, he is a man who believes that this woman is worthy of her fate, he sees something in her and he works in tandem with this other voice in his mind to turn their pressure smooth, he weathers away his jagged edges by releasing the voice inside him.” He pauses, this is the moment, this is the time to really screw himself over or pull himself out of the blame. 

“We’re looking for a person who’s been in trouble with the authorities before, not physically appealing since he feels like he’s not only being isolated for his mind but rejected for his appearances. This was an accident, he probably reported our victim here before and nothing was done about it so he took actions into his own hands.” Jack hummed,  
“Vigilante?”  
“Not so much,” Will replied, “There is a personal care to this, can’t you see? He cared.”  
“Scorned lover,” Brian asked.  
“They always are,” Jimmy quipped. 

Will was not sated. There was a chasm in him that wanted recognition, but the survival instinct-primal and dull-screeched out for him to shy away. He was too close to this. 

__________

The nightmares grew worse, the visions occured in the day. It was like someone had pulled a sheet over Will’s eyes and rubbed kerosine to Will’s thought. Everything was blurred, like looking into the mirror after a shower or staring at lights through rain coated windows. The weeks progressed and everywhere he went the smell of decay seeped out of his ears, carrying to his nose.  
“Is something wrong Will?” Will stiffened in his seat, his fingers curling around the paper. Alana had visited with lunch from a cafe in Baltimore and news about Abigail. Could she smell it? Will jerked away his eyes darting back and forth, “I’m-” his tongue flubbed, his eyes twitched. Oh god, why did he have to look into her eyes. Forest green seeped into Will’s mind, he felt the cold disdain behind her walking gait, not for Will-anxiousness bundled in pity latched below Will’s heart. Alana felt contempt toward the world until they gave her a reason not to-thee were walls. The cold hubris from Chilton scoffed at what she called walls, he picked away at the mortar and the masonry fell apart. There was the basic primal fear, the general optimism that coinhabited on pessimism. She was optimistic for the worst in everything, and optimistic for the best. 

Another sheet of film covered Will’s mind, like a glitch his vision warped. A stag stood over him huffing, his hoof sliding across the floor.  
“I’m just sick-that’s all.” Care and worry tattered Will’s heart with shotgun shells. He stood up and had a sudden urge to visit Abigail. Dark green and Forest green melded together in Will’s mind and he walked past Alana.  
“I’m going to visit Abigail,” he told Alana.  
“I’ll come with,” she offered. “Sure, lemme just get my keys.” 

______________

As your faithful reporter I was one of the first journalists on set. Once again Special Agent Graham was visiting this victime. Authorities inform the public that this beast will not stalk again, but are we really supposed to believe the word of the monster himself? The victim is survived by her two sisters, who tell me their sister was a stand up role model to the community and visited charity events. Even working non-profit for a local dog shelter. 

_______

Hannibal had problems-unrelated to any of his mental splits from the rest of modern society. His weary heart could not continue to beat in tune any longer. That was his first issue. Boredom crawled up his chest, tapping at the keys that resonated with dark sonorous dirges that mourned the death of his comfort. It itched away uncomfortably, his skin closing in, becoming tighter and tighter with each day. So Hannibal resolved to change his routine, it is recommended for normal bouts of depression, why wouldn’t it work for him? Hannibal just needed a change on a larger scale. For a moment he briefly considered moving to Europe. And then he met Jack Crawford. A man like that had to be watched slowly, a savoured L’appel Du Vide to watch from afar. He resolved to stay in America until Jack self combusted and joined him for dinner. And seeing Bedelia so on edge after suggesting a cafe just couldn’t be wasted. He took it steps further to the point of owning and co-operating a lovely european inspired cafe. 

His second issue was that there was another chess piece running around without Hannibal’s supervision. The first person who mentioned him was Jack, over coffee.  
“I’m asking you to just look at the profile, we could really use a new pair of eyes.” Hannibal cocked his head at the possible duality of his meaning in amusement. “There’s another profiler working on the case, an intelligent man, Will Graham.” Hannibal stilled his actions, interesting,  
“What is it you would have me do?” Jack leaned forward across the display case much to Hannibal’s dismay and whispered, “Between you and me, Will isn’t the most stable person, he needs a guiding influence. The strings began to play somewhere distantly in Hannibal’s mind, they were whispering softly helping shape the image of a featureless, optimistic who hoped to make a difference in the world. “I’m just asking for you to stop in and look.” Hannibal twisted the end of his apron, Jack seemed to ask for a lot. It would be a shame if he asked for too much one day. “I’m sorry Jack, but I do have the shop to worry about.” Nobody told Jack no, unless they were someone Jack knew he couldn’t push around. 

The second time this profiler was brought up was by Chilton of all people.  
“So you rejected the white whale,” he gloated to Hannibal over dinner. Hannibal stilled in cutting open his pan seared liver saltimbocca,  
“I’m a to be the Ahab in a pursuit I know nothing about?” He sits across from the pest and grins, “Who runs from me so?” How apt the metaphor would become in the passing weeks. “You haven’t heard,” Fredrick enthused over the meal, he paused taking a gulp of his wine glass to choke down the decorational piece that he thought was an appetizer. “The most renowned profiler has been put under my care, what a unique mind it is-pure empathy. Sheds his skin to replace it with someone else’s. You can only imagine how deep my claws go into his reptilian brain.” Hannibal paused,  
“We often use the word reptilian brain to associate someone without the same nuances that the functional have, our basic instinct. Does your specimen truly possess no mind to make room for the others he dons, or have you merely perceived it to be so in your excitement to strain your influence?” Chilton paused, looked down at his meal, blissfully unaware like the pig before the bucher. “Perhaps science cannot describe a man quite like our Mr. Graham.” Hannibal grinned behind his fork, “Perhaps,” he drawled. And the piano whistled, each key flowing ceaselessly. 

The third time Hannibal heard his name the news was blaring in the background of a particularly unsavory soprano’s house.  
“There to profile the scene for the police is local controversy, Professor Will Graham. He has now been called in a fourth time for what appears to be a new name in the crime community-the Clairvoyant named by crime tabloid writer, Freddie Lounds. Professor Graham attests their target is a highly intelligent, psychopath. Once thought to be a crime of passion gone wrong the police now strongly believe that they are looking for a very ill man who hides in plain sight, he will probably be higher class in positions directly associated with art, for his calling card. The paintings on the body. This has been the third reported victim since the first one only five months ago.” Hannibal paused what he was doing and sat across the TV, his plastic suit wrinkling on top of the plastic sheets she used to cover her furniture from pet hair. Jack appeared on screen next to crime scene tape, disappointment sunk into Hannibal’s chest, he wanted to see Will. 

“Our killer is evolving, his methods change, his personalities change, we’re looking for someone who is an actor and a damn good one. Please, I am asking the public to reach out with any information you have.” Hannibal leaned in, patting the TV with his latex gloves,  
“You ask too much, Jack,” Hannibal chuckled. The brass worked together, drawing out deep wailing breathes that sounded like a singer under the full moon. 

The final time was the last straw, Alana had brought in stories about the man, told Hannibal descriptions that never added to the featureless slate in his mind.  
“I’ve vaguely heard of him” he told Alana hoping to dig something out of her.  
“Oh, he’s so interesting to talk to, can match you word for word.” Patience was one of Hannibal’s greatest reveries, he put off googling the professor just to be shock by his appearance on first sight, but Alana was not helping stem the deadly curiosity that reared his ugly head. Alana chatted about his compassion and the woodwinds creaked into position, each one of them blowing at once to create the passing wind. 

The music flowed together, information stored in the keys, a figure was beginning to shape before Hannibal’s eyes. He saw a soul, the body was gone for now but the soul stood out, the soul at its outer shell. How the world saw Will Graham. He grinned listening to the orchestra start to tune their instruments, practice sinque. Soon everything would be ready and the music would be beautiful. 

____________

So far there have been four symbols, the snake to represent victim one, a woman who laundered money from her local animal shelter. Victim two, a whip-poor-will an omen of death for the senior caretaker who didn’t like to take care of their patients. The Lotus flower on the forehead of our third victim, a politician who donated to strictly anti-LGBT organizations and for our fourth victim, a suspected rapist-an arrow pointing to the left to ward off evil. 

More developing on this breathtaking story but first, a brief road map of the Shrike’s journey and how it had affected his daughter Abigail who woke up only hours ago. 

_______

It can’t be as simple as that for Will.  
“What do you mean that sounds like encephalitis?” Matthew shrugged, digging the tip of his knife into the apple, slicing off a piece for Will as they waited for Chilton to finish his conference call.  
“I went to school enough to know the difference between mental illness and just a simple abnormality in the brain structure.” He pulled out a notepad,  
“Here, draw me a clock.” Will stared at Matthew from the corner of his eye, buttermilk washed over Will as Matthew smiled and then navy blue pangs in the center of his heart. Will was thinking about borrowing Matthew’s conscious the next time he went out on a hunt. If he had any control over when he hunted next time. It would be fun, he reasoned, he had already used Alana, Stamments, Jimmy-Brian-Bev and even Abigail who Will had been visiting in the hospital. 

Matthew’s hand ran over Will’s. They met eyes and Will gasped softly, pulling his eyes away-the base behind Matthew’s eyes interested him, if only just slightly. Matthew laughed out,  
“I knew it.” He held up the notepad, “Will, what do you see?” Will looked at the paper and shrugged, “A regular dumb clock, I don’t know what you want from me.” Matthew nodded,  
“Will trust me on this, you just drew a whole mess.” Chilton opened the door his face beet red,  
“You,” he pointed at Will, “Need to convince your boss of something detrimental to the sack of criminal forensics.” Will slung his bag over his shoulder and ran out of the room, stopping to clap Matthew on the cheek, “You are a lifesaver, man. I gotta go talk to somebody.” 

Alana did not like being woken up at eight in the morning on a saturday to look at Will draw clocks. She also didn’t like that it had taken them both months, under Chilton’s eye, running around worrying about psychosis when everything could be fixed with a medical ease. When Abigail left her coma, Will slipped into one as the procedure slipped into effect. 

_______  
“And Alana and I have been feeding your dogs and she took me to this lovely bakery, the chef is really nice. Also Winston hasn’t been the same since you left.” Will yawned quietly, his throat sore, “I miss him too. How far away did you say the bakery is?” Abigail perked up, “Let’s go now, I can drive you.” She pulled Will out of bed and helped him limp down to the garage to Will’s car that was being borrowed by Abigail-who was also staying in Will’s house for the time being. Will watched Abigail drive with pride, the voices in his head had dulled again. His fingers itched to work soon, but the lifted fever from his mind reasoned that Will needed his own design. 

Abigail dropped Will off and told him to find a table until she could park. He walked up to the counter tapping the silver bell up front.  
“One moment please,” a female voice called out. She stepped in front of the cash register and cleared her throat, “My name is Bedelia, can I get you anything.” Will nodded,  
“Sorry, kinda’ waiting for a friend really quick then I’ll order.” She pursed her lips. “I was wondering,” he continued, “Do I just sit down or do I wait to be seated.” A bit rude but he had just come from the hospital after finding out his brain had been lit on fire. Bedelia sighed,  
“Yeah, we’ve got a table clearing up right now. Wait five minutes.” Will nodded, stepping away from the register. Bedelia coughed awkwardly,  
“Are you vistine Maryland?” Will looked back out at the street for Abigail,  
“I guess? I come here all the time, I live in Virginia. My sister’s coming from Michigan.” Bedelia huffed, “Do you come here for work?” Will nodded, “Oh yeah, lots, I’m a profiler for the FBI, there’s a lot of crime near here if you can believe it.” Bedelia smiled politely, was the proper etiquette on how to address an idiot looking for your idiot friend, eating their bat shit insane food under his unsuspecting nose. “Maybe, I’m familiar with you,” Bedelia told him, “My partner works with the FBI occasionally.” Will nodded, “Well, I’m Will Graham.” He reached out to take Bedelia’s hand when Abigail walked in. Will paused, “Scuse me one sec.” In his haste he hadn’t noticed Bedelia pause, a funny look came into her eye. 

“Hannibal!” She called into the kitchen. He peered out the kitchen's service window, “You needn’t shout Bedelia, I can hear you fine from where you are.” Bedelia pointed at Will’s back,  
“Your profiler is here.” Hannibal’s eyes blew open, a predatorial leer was painted on his face,  
“Where?” She surrendered the information, dooming the poor man to an eternity clasped by hell personified. Hannibal rushed out of the kitchen, pulling his suit jacket on, “Tend to the coffee Bedelia, I’ll wait on Professor Graham.” He pulled an apron over his shirt stepping into the dining center,  
“Hello my name is Hannibal and I’ll be at your service today.” Will looked up and grinned and said-

______________

Hannibal’s heart stuttered in its tracks, peeling away the snake skin and dawning a heavy armor, daring his infatuation to stare through. Beauty played with Will’s features, indecisive and uncaring. Their eyes met, Will opened his mouth and the symphony began to play. 

____________

Later that night after such brief contact with Will, Hannibal researched everything he could to understand the man, obsessively especially after learning about the man’s bout with encephalitis. Months and no one noticed, he kept it under wraps. Hannibal settled into bed getting ready to fall asleep when he heard a thump in the next room. He followed the noise of bare feet against hardwood down to the living room. There in the center of the room Will staggered about holding a heart in his reddened hand, the moonlight shimmered against the flecks of blood on his face.  
“I hope you're happy,” Will spat, tossing the heart on Hannibal’s table.  
“I’m not sure what you mean,” Hannibal feigned. Will stomped forward grabbing Hannibal’s tie, “You know me, I know you know me, I know everything about you.” He leaned forward pressing his nose to the bottom of Hannibal’s jaw, “You, Ripper. You’re the one who made me do this, I wanted my own design for once and then you had to ruin it.” Hannibal pulled Will’s hand off his tie, Will pressed his nose closer to Hannibal’s face, wrapping his arms around the taller man’s chest. 

“I’m afraid I’m confused Will,” Hannibal hummed, “You’re going to have to spell it out for me.” Will nipped at Hannibal’s ear,  
“You are the Ripper, I am the Clairvoyant. I’m influenced by people around me, especially people who look into my eyes, Alana tells me she already explained my malady to you,”  
“Gift,” Hannibal corrected, “Your gift.”  
“Whatever,” Will groaned, “You knew, you challenged me and I saw all of you, your mildly impressive walls.” Hannibal pulled Will closer scenting Will’s throat. Will’s heart slammed into his ribcage, “Did you just smell me?” Hannibal smirked, carding a hand through the other’s hair,  
“Difficult to avoid.” He pulled Will’s face back staring into his eyes, running the pad of his thumb across Will’s pulse point. His skin felt like fire, just as his healing brain smelled. “Your cologne is atrocious, you must let me introduce you to another. Something with notes of alcohol or richer wood.” Will scoffed, nudging Hannibal back, “God you’re a creep.”  
“But I’m your creep,” Hannibal added hopefully. Will shrugged, watching Hannibal’s lips move, “You’ve got some competition, there’s an amatuer out there, who actually helped diagnose me and befriended me at my worst and I wouldn’t count Alana out of the race yet.” Hannibal cocked his brow, “Oh, then what makes me so favorable.” 

Will pulled back watching all the colors in his mind layer over each other, built together to paint a mural in the shadowed part of his skull.  
“You’re the only person who isn’t like the rest of them, they’re all just paint, to our painting.” He closed his eyes, pressing his head into Hannibal’s chest and watching the masterpiece paint itself. “But,” he whispered, “You have to fight for my hand, before anything can happen.” Will pulled away, brushing off his clothes, “I left you a gift, somewhere in the city. It won’t be too hard to find.” Hannibal clenched his jaw at the loss of contact, he mourned all touch that could have happened past that moment. 

“Should I look for it in the news tomorrow, dear Will. Or do you want me to pick it up tonight?” Will leaned forward, tugging at the lapel’s of Hannibal’s suit,  
“Does the artist withhold their work if asked nicely?” Hannibal bit down hard on the inside of his cheek,  
“I’m sure if asked really nicely he does.” Will chuckled deeply, “Would you ask me really nicely, Doc?”  
“If I made sure there was no one else to ask you of such a thing, would you do that just for me?” It was at the moment Bedelia chose to pull into Hannibal’s driveway, stopping behind his car. “Well,” Will drawled, “Looks like your wife’s here, I was just starting to have fun.” He hiked up his leg on the counter and stood on top of Hannibal’s stainless steel kitchen tops. He couldn’t find it in himself to be angry either. “I’m not married,” Hannibal supplied, it left the open ended possibility that Bedelia wasn’t not his anything. Will hopped over the counter, slinking into the backyard. God, he thought to himself, it’s so much more fun to be this way when his brain wasn’t on fire.

**Author's Note:**

> If you guys are intrested in a part three comment below, if you guys are intrested in a collection of one shot, send in your ideas and prompts because seriously I'm running dry in the idea factory.


End file.
